by Abby Gaines
Not good.
Anger surged through her. “Dammit, Garrett, if you hadn’t been here distracting me, I wouldn’t have—”
“Offered whoever that was the equivalent of sex to keep the relationship going?”
She sputtered.
“Didn’t I tell you not to beg?” he asked. “That goes for family, too, you know.”
“I was trying to help my sister,” she said.
“You were trying to make her do what you want.” Coming closer, he took the phone from her hand and set it back in its cradle. “It never works, Rach.”
“Rachel.” She needed to stop rising to that bait. But right now it was better than confronting the ring of truth in his words. Suddenly weak, still teary from the CLIO debacle, she leaned against her desk. She’d screwed up.
To her surprise, Garrett leaned beside her, so they were shoulder to shoulder—actual contact, he didn’t pull away—facing out into her office. “What exactly were you trying to blackmail your sister into?”
“Bribe,” she corrected.
When he laughed, she realized how crazy that sounded. As if bribery was a whole lot more ethical than blackmail. “I don’t want her to move away.” Briefly, she told him about her parents’ transient lifestyle.
“That’s tough,” he said, “I guess. I mean, if you like your family enough to want to keep them around.”
“I do.” She sighed.
“On the bright side, you still have your legs.” He eyed her legs in her short black skirt with a connoisseur’s appraisal.
Rachel couldn’t hold back a laugh. “Gee, that makes me feel a lot better.” Actually, his blatant appreciation did help, just a tiny bit. “I don’t think what I did was so bad,” she said, rallying. “You’re the one who said I should run my relationships on my terms.”
“I’m starting to realize that mostly applies to people you don’t like,” he said cryptically.
“Now you tell me.” She pinched the bridge of her nose. “Maybe LeeAnne will think about what I said and see that I’m right.”
Garrett didn’t comment.
Then she remembered the hurt in her sister’s voice, and her mood slumped. “I’d better call her back. Explain that I’m only trying to help.”
Garrett winced. “Not now. You’re both feeling emotional—you’re bound to mess up. Besides, she’s not going to answer.”
He was right. Again.
“I suppose you don’t have problems like this,” Rachel said. “You never try to hold on to anyone.” She observed his profile, his straight nose and strong chin.
“Makes life a lot less complicated,” he said.
“Are you happy like that?” she asked. “Never taking a risk with your emotions?”
He moved away, breaking the connection of their shoulders, but then he twisted to face her, so he was looking directly into her eyes. “You’re not trying to tell me you know anything about risk, are you?”
He had a point. Garrett might not take the risk of connecting, but she didn’t risk letting go of a relationship, even one that wasn’t working.
She registered that he’d inched closer. It was difficult to process his question when he was so close. When his scent pervaded her senses, when that gleam in his dark eyes seemed so warm, when his mouth was curved in a tantalizing smile that, if she read it right, said he was about to kiss her—and that he was looking forward to it as much as she was.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
GARRETT DREW BACK SHARPLY, and Rachel felt a rush of rejection…until she saw Clive through the glass wall of her office, one hand in his pocket, the other holding his phone to his ear. Though Rachel couldn’t hear him, she guessed from his hunched shoulders that he was talking in an undertone. There was a frown on his usually placid face.
“What’s that about?” she asked Garrett. Just as well they hadn’t locked lips five seconds earlier.
Garrett leaned forward to watch where Clive went. “Yep, he’s gone to the elevator. He’s up to something. I haven’t figured out what yet.”
“You think it’s about Brightwater?” It had to be.
“I don’t know, but I’ll find out. I’ve asked Stephanie to follow him.”
“What?” Rachel squawked.
“She doesn’t have anything else to do, so why not?” He pulled out his cell. “I’ve noticed Clive’s been heading out of the office for a late lunch most days. I asked Stephanie to wait in the lobby at one. I just need to call her and let her know he’s on his way down.”
He was outrageous.
He made the call. Stephanie would have no trouble indentifying Clive, since he was so tall and big-built. And wearing a pink shirt.
As Garrett ended the call, one of Clive’s account execs walked past the window. Catching sight of Garrett, she waggled her fingers at him.
Garrett waggled his right back.
“What, you’re BFFs with all the junior staff now?” Rachel said, disbelieving.
“Whatever that means,” he said. “You’re the one who taught me to take an interest in people’s lives. It’s amazing how much information they share when you do that.”
“So she’s feeding you with info about Clive?”
“Not yet,” he admitted. “Mostly we just wave at each other.”
She tried to disapprove, but it was too funny. “I hope none of my team are that friendly with you.”
“I’ve been trying to pump them for information,” he said. “But they’re disgustingly loyal.”
Clive’s account exec came by again, carrying a coffee. Once again, she did that finger-waggle to Garrett.
“Why is she giving you that secretive smile?” Rachel demanded. “Are you sleeping with her?” She was shocked how much she hated the thought.
“Of course not,” he said, so incredulous she believed him. His gaze narrowed on her, as if he could read how much she would dislike him to be sleeping with, well, anyone.
Oh, hell. Rachel blushed. “It’s just, her behavior seems intimate.”
“Uh, yeah, I guess it does.” He ran a hand around the back of his neck. As if he felt guilty.
“What did you do?” Rachel asked. “Why does that girl think she has some connection to you?”
“She was asking about my family yesterday,” he admitted.
Rachel groaned. “So you made up some story about your mom and now her little heart is bleeding for you. What was it this time? Slow death by lead poisoning from old paintwork?”
“No, but that’s a good one,” he said admiringly. “All I came up with was a fall while hiking the Appalachian Trail.”
“And you claim to be a creative genius,” she said.
“I’ll use yours next time.”
“How about not making up a story at all?” she suggested.
Almost imperceptibly, he shifted away from her. “Since you still have your mom, you probably don’t notice how often people’s mothers come up in conversation.”
She wrinkled her forehead. “They don’t.”
“Exactly. If you asked people, they’d say they never talk about their parents,” Garrett said. “But fact is, mothers come into the conversation at every turn. And people ask questions, like that woman on Clive’s team did yesterday.”
“Can’t you just say your mom passed away, without making up some elaborate tale?”
“As soon as I say she’s dead, people feel bad about mentioning their own mothers. They can’t just drop the subject. Their next question is always how my mother died.”
“You can’t expect them to ignore that you just mentioned her death,” Rachel said.
He frowned. “Sure I can.”
“They need to express some sympathy and take some interest. It’s good manners.”
He looked as if he had no idea what she was talking about.
“Human decency,” she elaborated. Nope, still a blank. “Connection?” she suggested.
He straightened and took a step away from the desk. “They can find some other way to co
nnect. My mom is private. Besides, you don’t express sympathy, give or take the odd lapse. You just badger the hell out of me.” But he didn’t sound that bothered.
“I learned the error of my ways in that elevator,” she said.
He looked down at her, the corners of his mouth tipping up a tiny fraction. Rachel had an urge to run her thumb across those lips, to force them to soften. She wedged both thumbs beneath her butt on the desk to prevent any uncontrollable caresses.
“How old were you exactly when your mother died?” She waited for a flip reply.
“Fifteen,” he said. “My fifteenth birthday.” He looked as if he wished he hadn’t shared even that crumb. Why had he?
“Right,” she said, forcing down her compassion for a teenager who’d lost his mom at a difficult age, on his birthday.
Garrett looked relieved.
“And how did she die again?” she asked casually.
He chuckled. “Nice try.”
“Do you talk about your mom with your family?” she asked.
“None of your—”
“Damn business,” she finished. “But, for the record, if you don’t, maybe you should. Because you’ll probably find the rest of the family would love to even just say her name.”
He made violin-playing motions, and she shook her head in amused frustration.
“While I’m badgering you, why don’t you like your stepmother?” she asked.
He flinched. “What makes you think I don’t like her?”
“Maybe it’s the way you flinch at the word stepmother.”
He flinched again, and his lips pressed together.
“She seemed great,” Rachel said. “Really nice.”
“Are you trying to annoy me?” he asked.
“Is it working?”
A reluctant grin pulled at his mouth. “You definitely have the knack.”
“How did the sonogram go?” she asked.
His whole face lit up, robbing her of breath. “It was amazing. I could see everything, ten tiny fingers and toes… .” He broke off, clearly appalled at his own gushing.
“I hope you mean ten of each, rather than ten total,” Rachel said. “Because that would be weird.”
He laughed, obviously grateful not to be called on the emotion.
“Families, huh?” she said. “How does the thing that matters most end up going so wrong? I don’t know if LeeAnne will ever speak to me again.” Her voice hitched on the last word.
Garrett pushed off the desk and paced to the wall, to the framed photographs of her nieces. His back to her, he stared at it.
“The thing is, Rachel,” he said, “I know something about begging.”
“You do?” she asked. “You told me you’d never…”
“I’ve never begged a date not to break up with me—only a total loser would do that.” He turned, flashed her a grin. Then his smile faded, and he thrust his hands into his pockets.
“I begged my father not to marry Stephanie,” Garrett said. He shook his head at the memory, in self-recrimination. “I was in tears.”
“Oh, Garrett.” Rachel knew without a doubt that was the last time he’d cried. She wanted to cry herself.
“I begged,” he said again, quietly.
“And begging never works.”
His head jerked in acknowledgment of the advice he’d given her. Advice he’d learned the hard way. “I even tried blackmail,” he said. “Told my father if he married her, I wouldn’t ever do what he wanted again.”
“I’m…surprised he went ahead with the wedding so fast, knowing how strongly you felt.” Rachel struggled to keep her voice calm. The thought of Garrett crying, pleading, broke her heart.
That he was willing to admit that part of his past to her did something else altogether—it filled her heart with tenderness. Probably a bad idea.
“He said it was for our sake, mine and Lucas’s,” Garrett said. “We needed the stability.”
More or less the same words she’d used with LeeAnne. Rachel cringed.
“I’m sorry,” she said. Apologizing to him for his father’s insensitivity, to LeeAnne for her own.
She held out her hand to him; he took it. In the space between them, something flared. Something powerful.
Rachel saw the moment Garrett started to panic. His eyes widened, he dropped her hand and took a rapid step back, as if she’d just admitted to having Spanish flu and promptly coughed all over him.
Three seconds later, he was gone.
* * *
STEPHANIE GRABBED a take-out herbal tea from the tea shop below the studio where she’d just completed her antenatal Pilates class. She added a small handmade chocolate to her order—the caffeine fix she could take without feeling guilty or without facing the overt disapproval of young servers who had no idea of the stress involved in being a forty-five-year-old, single, first-time mom with the only person in the world who truly loved her—Lucas, her younger stepson—engaged in active duty in the Persian Gulf.
Not that she was entirely alone. She had a couple of old school friends in Manhattan, girls she’d lost contact with. Now, she’d picked up those old threads and was enjoying catching up for the odd coffee—or tea—or shopping for the baby with one of them. And she had Garrett, sort of. Though she was hoping and praying for much more where he was concerned.
Balancing her tea and chocolate, Stephanie waited for the walk sign—fifteen years of marriage to Dwight had instilled a safety consciousness deep enough into her that she couldn’t adopt the Manhattanite habit of standing out in the road ready to move the moment the light changed. The other side of the road was one of her favorite stops on her route: the Play Time toy store.
Garrett and Lucas had been teenagers when she’d married Dwight, so she’d never bought a toy in her adult life—in fact, not since her own childhood when she’d saved with her allowance for a Barbie doll. She knew her baby wouldn’t need toys for a while, but she liked to window-shop.
People streamed across the road, and as soon as the walk sign lit, Stephanie joined them.
When she reached the other side, she almost walked right into her husband, coming the other way.
“Dwight!” she exclaimed. “What are you doing here?”
“Hello, Stephanie.” He grasped her elbow to pull her from the crush of pedestrians into the alcove of the toy-store window. “How are you?”
“I’m fine. Thank you.” She hoped her hair wasn’t frizzing at the ends in the increased humidity. She was more sensitive to frizz when pregnant, it seemed. “And you?”
He nodded, but didn’t really answer.
“What are you doing in this part of town?” she asked again.
He hesitated. “I had a meeting. With a reporter.”
Stephanie stared. He was lying. Dwight, who never lied, was telling an untruth. And not very well, either. His face was red, his eyes flickering downward. Could he be here to see her?
Her heart thudded. Could Dwight be missing her enough to back down?
“How’s the baby?” he asked.
“Everything’s fine. I had a scan the other day.”
“You didn’t tell me.” He sounded almost hurt, but she knew she didn’t have that capacity. He was as impervious as one of those frigates he loved.
“I know it’s not really your thing,” she said. He’d accompanied her to her first scan, but out of duty rather than enthusiasm. He’d told her he hadn’t done “any of that” with Michelle, his first wife, but he understood times had changed and this was what fathers did today. This was his duty.
“But you don’t like to go alone,” he said, frowning.
“Garrett came with me.” She’d said it to reassure him, but he stiffened. Which was exactly why she was here, because he was incapable of seeing any good in his older son. Incapable of accepting that a refusal to do things Dwight’s way didn’t make Garrett the enemy.
She knew Dwight would see her as the enemy now. The thought pained her because she loved him so much.
Because in his heart, he was such a good man. If only he could choose to define himself by something other than his ability to command.
“It’s nice to see you,” she said. “But I need to keep moving. I have an appointment.”
“A doctor’s appointment?” he asked.
“With a photographer,” she said. “The husband of a friend of mine. He offered to take some photos that would, um, celebrate my pregnant body.”
“Naked photos?” Dwight said, horrified.
She was tempted to say yes. But he might have a stroke and, besides, at forty-five she wasn’t keen to flaunt her naked, swollen body. “Some pictures that emphasize this.” She touched her tummy. “I might have a few more buttons undone than you would like.”
Dwight’s mouth worked. He would turn sixty-one soon after the birth of their baby. Far from ideal as a father. He was an old man. In his attitude, anyway.
She realized he was eyeing her stomach, where she’d touched it, almost hungrily. “Dwight?”
“It’s my child,” he said.
“Of course it is.” In that moment she realized why he was there. Not because he’d suddenly discovered he couldn’t live without her. He wanted to check up on her and his baby. His responsibilities.
The blare of a taxi horn almost drowned out her words. “If you really want to come to the next doctor’s appointment, I’ll let you know when it is.”
“Don’t you dare just schedule me into your life,” he ordered.
“You’re the one who likes to draw a line, to say this far and no further.”
To her shock, he grabbed her arm and tugged her. Into the toy store.
“Dwight, what are you doing?” she asked. But the heat faded from her voice as she gazed around the store.
Dollhouses, tricycles, stuffed animals… She took them all in. Her rapturous smile was in anticipation of sharing such delights with their baby, Dwight guessed.
He felt much better now that he had her inside, off that crowded sidewalk…no matter that he’d derived an idiotic amount of pleasure from watching her cross the street. He loved the way she waited, bouncing gently on the balls of her feet until the walk sign lit up. He found her caution, mingled with her obvious desire to keep moving, deeply sexy.
